


I Lose Myself When I'm Near You

by vernyx



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-17 02:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vernyx/pseuds/vernyx
Summary: Jungwoo wants a kiss for his birthday present.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uh...they,

_Fire_ is what Doyoung’s used to feeling. Scorching heat that starts off somewhere deep in his chest, spreading throughout his entire body, the feeling akin to molten lava running along the surface of his skin, a type of burn that’s so painful but tolerable at the same time.

He feels a playful hand brush against the nape of his neck, soft and barely there, like it was an accident but the fingers continue moments later, running along his nape and down to his collarbone tentatively. He can feel those same, nimble fingers work their way from his lobe to the tip of his ear, affectionately, and Doyoung can feel the warmth forming in his gut as he swallows thickly.

But Doyoung has always been a situationally good actor, pretends not to be affected as flames lap tirelessly at his skin.

What’s interesting, though, is where Doyoung thinks he might be two steps ahead, Jungwoo shows him that he took four – is always there to break the façade, to pull him back down; to keep him grounded or high-strung; to this day, Doyoung isn’t quite sure which one it is.

He almost feels bad for Mark, who’s talking animatedly into the camera, working hard at keeping fans entertained, carrying this broadcast on his own and he wishes that he can pitch in with a few witty comments – opens his mouth in an attempt to do so – but then Jungwoo rubs circles into the particularly sensitive spot on his neck and he _melts,_ leans into the touch as his eyes flutter closed.

He hears the way Jungwoo laughs softly at the reaction he gives but he’s too busy drowning in heat to care, sighs soundlessly and hears Mark talking about the few packages of sweets that they brought with them. He can feel Jungwoo’s thigh brushing against his own and –

What Mark doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Doyoung wants to let his hand fall to that thigh, to tease him a bit, but then those four steps are taken gracefully and he feels a warm hand – Jungwoo’s hand – covering his own, before he gives up, decides to be bolder and laces their fingers together.

Jungwoo watches him nibble on a chocolate cookie with a small smile dancing on his lips.

“Jungwoo’s birthday is soon!” Mark announces, mood still on one-hundred, and Doyoung briefly thinks that Mark’s really good at showing the best sides of himself during their fan engagements. He’s so talented.

“Oh right,” he hums in thought, “What does Jungwoo want for his birthday?”

He takes a big bite of the cookie then, some crumbs dusting the sides of his lips and Jungwoo carefully wipes them away with his thumb. Doyoung tries not to let his cheeks heat up too much.

“Hmm,” Jungwoo pretends to think for a three seconds, “Doyoung’s love?”

He has always been rather cheeky, always been rather flirtatious, even, and Doyoung knows this a little _too_ well – yet the answer still catches him off-guard.

And Mark, too. The poor guy looks as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Jungwoo plays with his nape again and Doyoung’s blood simmers beneath his skin. “And how do you want me to give you that?”

“A kiss,” Jungwoo replies as he taps his cheek and Doyoung can’t help the flustered giggle that falls from his lips that are stretched around a wide smile, the tips of his ears flushed.

He hates how he has to act as if his heart _isn’t_ pounding loud enough for everyone to hear for the rest of the broadcast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doyoung feels as if he’s standing in front of the door to Hell itself. And, in a way, he’s not entirely wrong.

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to settle his frayed nerves before he knocks twice – two loud, borderline obnoxious knocks, before he lets himself in.

Jungwoo turns around as soon as he walks in, entirely shocked, which is understandable – considering the fact that he never comes over to their dorm for any reason.

Doyoung speaks first before Jungwoo has a chance to.

“Kun said you’d be here,” he avoids eye-contact at first, lets a few beats of silence hang heavily in the air then continues, sounding a bit more confident this time, “I’m here to give you your birthday gift. The … _thing_ … you told me earlier.”

"The thing...?"

"The thing."

Doyoung watches him stare at the floor, gapes at the blush rising on Jungwoo’s cheeks.

“The,” Jungwoo pauses to clear his throat, “The kiss?”

Doyoung hums in confirmation, stands his ground despite feeling as if he's about to crumble into a million pieces any minute now.

“But. It’s…it’s not my birthday yet.” Jungwoo says it so softly, Doyoung almost misses it.

To think that Jungwoo's backpedalling right now - he finds it somewhat comforting to know that Jungwoo's just as flustered as he is.

“You don’t have to,” he looks up at him then, “It was just a joke, so –”

“We both know that it wasn’t. And I _want_ to.”

Doyoung’s surprised at how steady his voice sounds. But his eyebrows knit together in thought. Was Jungwoo really about to pretend they weren’t keeping up their push and pull nonsense for a little over a month?

“Okay,” Jungwoo visibly relaxes, repeats the word as if he's convincing himself as he settles on the edge of his bed, “Kiss me, hyung.”

An odd, unfamiliar mix of anticipation and nervousness blooms in Doyoung’s chest and he feels that heat again – strong and so _there_ but he swallows it down as he closes the gap between them and sits on the bed next to Jungwoo. Jungwoo looks at him expectantly, not moving a muscle, letting Doyoung set the pace as he sits back and waits for him to grow a bit bolder – all the while, never taking his eyes off him.

Doyoung leans forward slowly, the seconds stretching on for hours, and Jungwoo gasps silently when he feels a warm pair of lips pressing softly against his rosy cheek. He looks at him again, eyes filled with something dark, something that Doyoung can’t quite put a name to, but it’s intense and he can feel his heartbeat thrumming beneath his ribcage.

“What if I said I wanted another one?” Jungwoo asks, breathless, eyes flicking down to his lips and Doyoung thinks that the proximity must be pulling the air from his lungs because, suddenly, he’s breathless, too. They’re so close – close enough for Jungwoo to feel Doyoung’s breath fanning across his lips with each rise and fall of his chest, close enough for Doyoung to count each and every one of the pretty eyelashes that brush against Jungwoo’s flushed skin every time he blinks.

“Where?” Doyoung rasps out, and he hates how raw his voice sounds, hates how dry his mouth feels, hates the way his hands tremble from their place on Jungwoo’s shoulder.

Jungwoo wraps an arm around the small of Doyoung’s back, points to his own lips and says, “Here.”

Doyoung lets out a shuddering breath, nearly gasps as Jungwoo pull him even closer and at this point they’re just panting against each other’s mouths, eyes still searching for confirmation that’s already there – and Doyoung throws caution to the wind, leans forward until he feels Jungwoo’s plump lips against his own. It doesn’t last long – a chaste and gentle first kiss that has Doyoung’s head spinning, that has Jungwoo’s heart feeling like it’s about to burst and they both want more – chases Doyoung’s lips until they meet again as if he’s hungry for it, fueled by the need to be even closer because he’s wanted this for so fucking long and Doyoung doesn’t hesitate to meet him halfway, moves onto Jungwoo’s lap with ease, straddling his hips as Jungwoo lazily runs his tongue along his bottom lip.

Jungwoo kisses him slowly, savouring the moment and Doyoung thinks that he tastes like cotton candy, like macarons, like sugar cookies and gumdrops – like every sweet thing that exists on Earth and he can’t get enough; barely manages to swallow down a groan as the sweetness that is Kim Jungwoo blooms deliciously on his taste buds.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts but Jungwoo pulls away eventually, plants kisses along his neck and Doyoung feels weak and pliant, lets himself be taken – returns each one of the heartfelt confessions and praises that Jungwoo murmurs into his skin with one of his own.

Everywhere Jungwoo touches feels hot, as if he’s trapped in a furnace – burning slow and deep – and the feeling’s quite agonising, almost torturous but he loves it.

He loves it so much.

And when he rolls his hips down, Doyoung thinks that the sound Jungwoo makes is melodic – absolutely beautiful – the sound echoing in his head as he comes undone beneath his hands. The desire they both feel, so raw and carnal, leaves them breathless and Doyoung finds himself trembling again, shaking from the need to be touched, to be held, to _feel_ Jungwoo where he needs it most.

Jungwoo drags it out, takes his time exploring the depths of Doyoung’s body, each searing touch burning hotter than the last, holds him flushed against his chest as if he’s scared that he’ll lose him if he lets him go for one second and Doyoung’s completely and utterly overwhelmed. When Jungwoo finally slides inside, Doyoung feels like he’s about to break from the intensity of it all but Jungwoo keeps him grounded, whispers sweet nothings in his ears as he takes him higher and Doyoung’s heart feels full – love and affection blooming within his chest as the heat builds and builds, growing stronger until it peaks and he finally lets go.

The fire is there and Doyoung lets himself be drowned in the flames.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This definitely wasn't supposed to happen - I only intended for this to be a oneshot but then I saw [ this ](https://twitter.com/nayutle/status/966080466536235013) so here we are lmao

Sometimes Jungwoo wonders if love is supposed to feel like ice – fervent and numbing, a raw and intense feeling; giving off a type of cold that sinks its teeth into his flushed skin, that leaves apologetic kisses, open-mouthed and desperate, in its wake.

Not the type of cold that usually has him shivering when Doyoung brushes past him, that has the hair on his nape standing on end when Doyoung’s piercing eyes rake down his body, vulnerable yet holding so much mystery to them, letting them linger a bit too long. Not the type of cold that’s constricting, that somehow radiates such deep carnal energy, the push and pull that Jungwoo reciprocates tenfold in public spaces.

This cold is different.

The cold he feels now is spellbinding, more direct, _harsher_ – feels like a weight sitting strong and heavy on his chest, as if glaciers are collapsing into the depths of his core, in time with his calculatingly slow and deliberate thrusts. And Doyoung never fails to meet him halfway; calls out his name – soft, breathy and oh so beautiful, spreading his legs as far as they can go as he wraps his arms around his neck, warm fingers digging into cool skin as he feels every inch of Jungwoo rubbing against his walls with every roll of his hips.

Jungwoo can feel the cold biting at him as Doyoung kisses him deeply and he welcomes it wholeheartedly, basks in the feeling of his tongue sliding against his own. It doesn’t take long for him to topple over the edge after that, not with the way Doyoung works his hips as if he’s meant for it, Doyoung’s name spilling from his lips, a sinful melody that cuts through the air like a knife as he’s pulled back to earth by warm hands and a blazing heart.

 

 

 

 

The commotion almost holds him captive, in a way; being surrounded by the other members, such happy campers, as he so eloquently likes to put it, who ramble about their rice cake dishes. He tries to match their excitement, as it _is_ a broadcast, but he ends up failing to do so – fatigue settling deep in his bones, his limbs feeling like weights as the chatter around him fades into white noise.

He’s fine, nonetheless.

Gives a few nods and smiles when he’s supposed to.

But, as if on cue, he suddenly freezes over, the temperature in the room dropping _at least_ ten degrees per second. Or so it seems.

Jungwoo feels him before he sees him.

Feels the telltale warmth he loves so much, pressing against his back; hears an all-too-familiar voice – _Doyoung’s_ sweet and gentle voice whispering filth in his ear, about how good he looks bent over the table, about how he can’t wait to touch him, about how much he wants to make him come right here where everyone can see.

And Jungwoo feels it – the undeniable chill that clings to him like a second skin, goosebumps blooming like petaled flowers during the early mornings of spring, a shiver rippling through his body as Doyoung subtly rolls his hips against him.

He can feel how hard Doyoung is against the clothed cleft of his ass and he lets out a silent gasp, unconsciously arching his back, eyes fluttering as a hand runs down his arm, coolness giving way to burning heat as Doyoung uses the same hand to press into the small of his back and make him arch even more.

Jungwoo doesn’t know how long it’s been – the measly seconds dragging onto minutes dragging onto, what feels like, _hours_ – just hours of them being there, the members faded into some black backdrop in his mind’s eye long ago; and it’s just the two of them. Doyoung ruts against him as best as he can manage without drawing attention to himself and Jungwoo holds himself up, his breath hitching in his throat, a small flame coming alive in his gut yet he’s feeling so cold that it almost hurts – as if blocks of ice burn unforgivingly into his skin.

But it doesn’t lasts as long as he’d like it to because Doyoung suddenly pulls him away from the crowd he forgot was there, vision blending together as he’s led out the room and down a blurry hall, past doors that look the same, past staff members that he barely remembers to greet out of respect as Doyoung leads him to an abandoned restroom, pushing him inside the thankfully clean space before he locks the door.

“ _Hyung_ ,” is the only thing he manages to get out, breathy and harsh, before Doyoung kisses him hard, the coolness of his fingers burning against Doyoung’s heated skin as he holds him close and arches against him.

The fire lapping within in his core burns beautifully, violent yet controlled all the same, but the chill that envelopes his being has him shivering again as Doyoung breathes him in and gasps expletives into his neck when Jungwoo grinds against him helplessly.

Doyoung strips him slowly as if they have all the time in the world – and they do when it’s just the two of them, here like this, chest to chest, hearts beating in tandem; and Jungwoo laces their fingers together, a warm palm burning against his cool one – but, as always, it’s a good type of burn and his eyes nearly roll back as Doyoung grips his hip firmly before Jungwoo guides his hand to the place where he’s feeling it most.

Jungwoo feels the ice on his skin, cold and mind-blowing; and Doyoung swallows down every moan, every gasp, every whimper that bubbles up in his throat as he’s pressed against the sink, the edge of it digging uncomfortably into his lower back but he couldn’t care less; not with the way Doyoung’s working him open and he has one leg hooked around his hips as he grinds back those slicked fingers.

What feels like a cool breeze spreads over Jungwoo when he tips his head back and moans freely into the air, high-pitched and desperate, the sound echoing against the tiles, a gorgeous tune that thrums against his eardrums and Doyoung kisses him again to keep his voice down. Doyoung takes his time unravelling him, alternating between quick, shallow strokes and slow, deep ones that has begs and pleas falling from Jungwoo’s lips, that has tears running down his cheeks and Doyoung wipes them away, tells him how pretty he is, how good he is for him, how well he’s taking it and Jungwoo flushes a little at the praise.

When Doyoung finally pulls his fingers out, he trembles against him, clenching around nothing as the ice on his skin and the fire in his gut mingles beautifully, two contrasting sensations harmonising in such a way that leaves him utterly overwhelmed and breathless as Doyoung holds him up with a pair of loving, gentle hands.

When Doyoung pushes inside, it’s a wet and filthy slide that has Jungwoo's toes curling, that has him crying out and breathing harshly against the pair of kiss-reddened lips that’s pressed against his and he feels alight with desire – the coldness fading out completely, being replaced by a burn that has him gasping and makes his head spin. The ice thaws out as Doyoung melts him with his warmth and it feels like there’s water droplets rolling down his skin, pooling at his feet with every press of warm fingers, with every touch, with every moan that’s pulled out of him.

It’s as if the world slows down when Doyoung fucks into him harder, his nerve endings ablaze as he burns hot somewhere in his chest, fiery and overpowering, losing himself in the raw feeling of it all, completely submerged but Doyoung is there to bring him back up every time. Doyoung has him bursting at the seams, has him whimpering with every stroke that reaches so deep that he feels light-headed; barely holding on as he sobs into Doyoung’s neck and when he finally comes, he melts away as he presses a kiss to the strong hands that love to hold him gently, the hands that love to break him and piece him back together again, the hands that love to make him lose himself and bring him back to reality.

Doyoung’s fire is bright and Jungwoo loves the way it burns.


End file.
